Memories of Death
by Knightmare Gundam of Ni
Summary: In the long eons, even a Horseman may fall into memories of the past.
1. The Third Reaping: Shinigami

**Memories of Death**

**The Third Reaping: Shinigami**

_Eons ago, before the time counted now by the race of Humanity, there was a reckoning._

_An Apocalypse wrought premature by the forces that reigned over the Cosmic Balance destroyed the Earth, brought upon the Third Kingdom a war it was not prepared for, and utterly annihilated Humanity. The blame was laid wrongly upon the Horseman War, one of four that had pledged themselves to serve the mediators of reality, the Charred Council, gaining unspeakable power in exchange for the slaughter of their brethren, the Nephilim._

_Punished, enslaved, and sent to prove his innocence, War hunted down those who conspired to pervert the Balance to their benefit, slaying the Destroyer, Abaddon, the former commander of the Hellguard turned ruler of Hell's newest Realm, even as the Pale Rider, Death, sought to resurrect Humanity, and erase the accusations against his fellow Rider, his brother._

_In the pursuit of their quests, each learned the truth of the false Apocalypse...that the Council had allowed it to pass in order to utilize War as an assassin against those who challenged their power. _

_When the seventh and last seal of the Apocalypse finally broke during War's quest on Earth, the Four Horsemen rode against their former masters, their true power unleashed against the forces the Charred Council brought to bear. Fallen Angel, Mercenary Demon, and forces far older than they fell under Strife's guns, War's blade, Fury's whip, and Death's scythe._

_Eventually, the Charred Council was destroyed, Death himself rending apart their souls, before the Horsemen took their place. Finding themselves now the mediators of the Cosmic Balance, the Horsemen sought to prevent such a disaster from ever occurring again, and when Humanity began to rebirth itself through the Well of Souls, they took it upon themselves to scatter it across the Realms they had rode through and conquered, seeding each with Life so that the Third Kingdom could grow anew, and appointing themselves the protectors of Humanity until the time came for them to face both prideful Angel and wrathful Demon._

_However, as Humanity began to be reborn, there was a change in them from their previous existence. The souls of the long-dead Nephilim, slain at the hand of Death and the other Horsemen, had been merged with those of Men to provide enough numbers and potency to ensure their survival. In many of the new Realms, humans possessed powers, each Realm hosting a different kind of magic, or supernatural abilities. Making humans a far more enticing target for those who would subvert, enslave, or devour them._

_To preserve these Realms, new Seals were laid that prevented any outside force, whether heavenly or hellish or otherwise, from interfering in the affairs of Mankind...unless invited._

_As the ages passed, and the new Realms of Man flourished, it was inevitable that humans would seek to extend their knowledge of Creation, and in doing so, open the doors to their Realms._

_In many of these, it was neither Angel nor Demon they invited in...but **Death** Himself..._

– Kingdom of the Dead, The Eternal Throne –

Long ago, before the End War, the Kingdom of the Dead had been a Realm in decline. The Skeleton King and his Court had languished in their keep, drawn about the sky by enormous twin serpents, while below the Dead, unrestrained in the fury of their untimely demise, had wreaked havoc.

_Unforgivable. _Death thought, upon his reflection.

The reign of the Lord of Bones had long ended, when Death had executed the Dead King for his slovenly behavior, and his idiotic Chancellor as well. With the breaking of the Seals and the success of the End War against the Charred Council, the Nephilim had found that his prime moniker in Creation had become something more than a mere title, as it had originally been intended.

And thus, he had considered it more than appropriate to seize the Kingdom's throne from the slothful King that had inhabited it for several millennia.

He had not, however, considered the consequence of spreading Humanity across multiple Realms as opposed to simply restoring the one they had inhabited prior to their resurrection.

Instead of one Dead Realm, there were _dozens_. And with him claiming the throne of what was, for all intents and purposes, the 'Prime' Dead Realm, he now had to deal with each and every one of the others.

_And what a mess they are._ Death sourly thought, reclining on the less-than-comfortable throne. He had his brother Strife to thank for the rather marvelous modification to the decidedly stiff piece of furniture, utilizing the former Chancellor's pelvis, spine and ribcage to create the mechanism and leg-rest. It made it much easier to relax in between the various crises that plagued his rule.

_Like this one here._ He groaned mentally, leaning back forward and making sure the strands of his favorite shroud weren't caught on any of the various bones before standing and summoning Harvester to his hand, as an eldritch portal from another Realm opened in his throne room.

Again.

Death strode forward, mind only half on his current task as some sort of weird creature emerged from the portal. It was certainly humanoid, with six wings topped by what looked like skeletal mandibles and long, dark brown hair streaming down its back.

"Spirit King! I have come for you!"

_Must be from Soul Society._ Death idly thought, as a single swipe of Harvester decapitated the creature. _That's the only Realm that calls me that._ Stripping the mortal soul down to its base essence and reconstituting it into its natural form, the Horseman grabbed the now rather mundane-looking Soul Reaper, reopened the portal with a twitch of his scythe, and stepped through.

Gathered before him was carnage that was on the level of the False End War, with bodies laying about in various states of living, and shattered streets, walls and other buildings torn apart, rubble strewn all over. Right in front of him was a gathering of unique individuals, a dark-haired tall man who nearly came up to his neck with discolored arms that reeked of spiritual power, an orange-haired girl with an impressive amount of power over Time for a human, and what appeared to be some soul in-between the states of Hollow and Reaper that occurred on this Realm, along with several of the Dead Realm's Reapers.

Noting and disregarding the shocked expressions from the humans, he turned to what his memorized descriptions of this Realm's authorities pinned as the leader, an exceedingly old, bald human with a rather fiery soul.

"_**You, Yamamoto Genryūsai," **_He spoke, the mortals shuddering at his voice, **_"Take care of this annoyance." _**He tossed the Soul Reaper in his hand to the elderly commander's feet, before turning and stalking back for the portal, reversing the sorceries that had opened it in the first place and returning the souls of several thousand humans before striding through and back into his throne room.

"Is everything well, Shinigami-sama?" Death turned to see the the blond head of one of his newest servants, Minato Namikaze from what he and his brothers had named 'The Realm of Shinobi', for lack of a better name.

"_**It's fine Minato," **_Death answered, the barest trace of irritation in his voice, **_"Just another irreverent annoyance from one of the other Dead Realms."_**

The former Hokage nodded and bowed. Unlike most of Death's servants, the ninja had only a faint wispy appearance and slight green tinge to show his state as a deceased human, owing to both the fact that he originated from one of the new Human Realms, and the rather unique circumstances of his death.

– Kingdom of the Dead, Leviathan's Gorge, Six Years Ago –

The wind whispered in the Horseman's ears, the restless voices of the long-dead souls of Ancients carried upon the breeze. To the younger dead, they told of what now awaited them, the tests and judgments, and the final passage through the Well of Souls. To invaders, they muttered threats and imprecations of fated torments and suffering. To their Lord, they brought news of the happenings in the Realm.

This was how Death had learned of the breach within the fabric of his Realm. A black hole, ringed with the flames of Inferno, one of many Hellish Realms belonging to the Fallen and the Damned. Demons great and small scampered out of it, spreading outwards, searching for lost souls to devour. A hundred thousand sinful beings...hardly a challenge.

Despair snorted, Death's ghostly pale stallion pawing at the ground in anxious impatience. It had been a long time since the horse had seen battle, and while not as ferocious as Ruin, War's mount, Despair still wanted for combat. Death brought forth twin hand-scythes from their sheathes, constructs of purest ivory and gleaming gold with sunlight, they were possessed weapons imbued with Celestial souls. A perfect pair to hunt the Infernal spawn with.

A shifting of weight, a slight clench of the thighs, and Despair leaped forth, pounding at the millennia of corpse dust that covered the Nether Realm in a furious ride for the Hellgate. As he rode, Death gave a short, brief incantation, and the sky suddenly darkened from an overcast evening to a dark night as black clouds swirled forth out of the aether.

The sudden change attracted the attention of the demons before him to the heavens, immediately before the clouds struck, revealing themselves to be murders of hundreds of thousands of crows, each imbued with the chill of death itself. Beaks pecked and talons scratched, each leaving a wound rimmed with hoarfrost that slowed the Damned and brought the weakest to a final end.

It was into this fresh chaos that Death and Despair charged, the great horse's bulk smashing aside many a demon and trampling the smallest under its hooves, as Death's scythes lashed out left and right, cleaving apart head and shoulders, arms and legs, eviscerating each and every piece of Infernal filth that had the misfortune to be near the path of the Horseman and his steed.

Finally, however, a potential threat arose, a Greater Demon of large stature and apparent power that adhered rather ridiculously to the mortal stereotypes, being red-skinned, with great curling ram's horns, cloven hooves for feet and a spade-tipped tail. Small frozen scars covered its hide from the crows' attacks, apparently only irritating the demon as it hefted its over-large bardiche for a hack at the approaching horse and rider.

Up Death leaped, as Despair sank into the ground, awaiting his rider's call. The bardiche swept through empty air as the Horseman sailed over it, his left-hand scythe sinking into the demon's chest and pulling him around to slam, feet-first, into the Damned One's back, spine cracking audibly. Forced to the ground by the weight of Death, the demon screamed as the scythe was wrenched through its chest and out the other side, bringing a rib out with it before the companion weapon sank straight into the demon's back, the blade protruding from its belly. In an instant, Death pulled on the scythe, the demon with it, and sent the latter into the air for a brief moment, before a flurry of cuts and slices rent the demon's flesh asunder, a final blow with the two scythes combined into a larger polearm neatly bisecting the Infernal invader, sending demonic blood and entrails splattering onto the ground.

All of this transpired in the few seconds the crows were summoned for, the avians dissipating back into nothingness, except for one especially large and ancient-looking bird that swooped down and landed adroitly on Death's shoulder.

Absently stroking the raven, Dust, with a single finger, Death glanced about at the demons surrounding him, all of their attention focused solely on him, and unsurprisingly, he saw the signs of fear among them. Many of them were attempting to subtly shuffle away from him, around him for the portal that lay at his back, while others were shuddering, moaning, especially this one group of lesser demons...

_What in the Creator's Name are **those!?**_ Death thought with a terrible wrath, the empty sockets of his mask falling upon a group of pitiful-looking demons, armed with scythes that were, compared to his, puny, dressed in ragged shreds of cloaks and with flesh appearing to be made of sand.

Clearly noticing his wrathful glare, the near-imps gave pitiful wails and turned to flee.

Death, however, was not too keen on allowing them to leave. An eldritch energy cocooned his right arm, and he lashed out with it, an ethereal fist shooting out to grab up the entire group.

It had been eons since Death had first acquired the artifact most now knew as the Deathgrip, and his skill with it had only increased. Whereas before he could only either pull himself to a single target or vice-versa, now he could enlarge the Deathgrip, and encompass a horde to capture and whip around. The group of false-Deaths slammed into the ground, some of them expiring then and their, dissolving into sand that mixed with the dust.

The others, however, were much less lucky. They were forced to face the full wrath of a Horseman insulted.

A single swipe of a scythe bisected three of them. The following, a full revolution with the other weapon leading, cut another five in twain. The final swipe merely cut a single one apart...but the phantasmal arms wielding an enormous scythe that phased into existence around Death eviscerated the remaining false-Deaths, as well as a large portion of the Infernal Horde around them.

As the lesser demons and imps fled, more Greater Demons, apparent kin to the one he'd slain earlier, surged forth, bloodlust in their eyes and fanged grins.

_Tch. I cannot allow a single hellspawn to escape...I'll have to take care of these fiends quickly then._

The Greater Demons spread out, encircling the nephilim before striking suddenly, an array of bardiches, great-axes and heavy morningstars streaking for their target.

In a split second, Death transformed.

Flesh tore and melted apart and back together, bone snapped and split, and soon in place of the Horseman was an enormous humanoid creature, with a hooded head and twin wings made of bone, with each 'feather' connected to the other by strips of dead, rotten flesh. The Demon's weapons slammed ineffectively into the ground as the Reaper flew above them, its scythe, an enormous curving blade with the skulls of the reaped decorating it, prepared for the slaughter.

It was over quickly. Swipes of the Reaper's scythe decimated the Demon's physical forms, even as it ripped their souls, screaming, away and into the blade.

Soon enough, the Reaper turned its attention to the rest of the Horde. They were fleet of foot, especially with the fear of Death in their souls...but unlike the Reaper, none of these infernals could fly.

The Harvest was good.

At the end of it, Death as the Reaper hovered above the Hellgate, the black mark on the Realm pulsing with power. Raising his scythe, Death gathered the energy of the Realm, along with his Wrath, and imbued his weapon with it, the scythe's blade glowing an eerie pale green. And then, he lashed down with it, launching it into the Hellgate like a bullet.

An infernal howling arose from the gate, as an aura of the same deathly green covered it, forcing it to compact, shrink...to disappear.

Satisfied with his work, Death began to lower himself down to transform back to his normal state.

However, trans-dimensional portals were always tricky things. Such things that tampered with the fabric of reality always were, and while portals such as Hellgates and Heavengates were stable once fully formed, the opening and closing of such doors were chaotic events.

So when something tugged at his essence and pulled him through the closing portal, Death could only sigh in annoyance.

– Realm of Shinobi, Land of Fire, Forest outside Konoha –

When everything ceased to look like a maelstrom of colors, Death saw himself, still in Reaper form, hovering high above a forest, with the typical kind of trees seen in a Realm of Man, with a small clearing directly below him...and permeated with a miasma familiar to Death, despite the eons since he'd last felt it.

_**"It cannot**** be...the Wailing**** Host?"**_He muttered, hooded head turning to gaze around. Before him was a surreal scene, even for a Horseman. A dome of energy produced by ethereal chains within which lay the source of the miasma. A creature, similar in form to a fox with rather exaggeratedly long ears and nine tails, as tall as a mountain, further bound by more chains sprouting from the earth. Studying it further, Death came to another startling realization.

_**Not only does it contain the spiritual malformation of the Wailing Host...but also the Wrath of Nephilim!**_

Wrath, the energy the Nephilim used to fuel their more esoteric abilities, so named because it was generated by the furor of battle and emotional highs the halfbreed species experienced, was most definitely _not _supposed to be found in anything but the Four Horseman. To find it inside some sort of perverted agglomeration of human souls...well, it was rather bad, to understate it.

"Shinigami-sama!" A voice called, returning Death's attention to the clearing. Unnoticed before, there were two small figures that Death realized were two humans there, a man and a woman, the woman cradling something to her chest. The man, a blonde with some sort of headband and a white coat decorated with flames, seemed taken aback at his appearance. "You...don't look like I thought you would."

_**"That is because I am not your Shinigami, mortal."**_Death explained. _**"I am his master."**_Amusingly, the mortal blanched, paling significantly.

"I...I do not know...how am I to pay you? I have but a single soul to offer?"

_**"Pay? Soul? What are you talking about?"**_

"The stories...old legends...they say that when the Shinigami is summoned...he takes a soul to languish in his belly..." Death grew quite still at this. And the mortals quailed, trembled before his silent wrath before it subsided.

_**"I shall have to pay a visit to this Realm's Dead counterpart...but first...this creature...what is it?"**_

"This...is the Nine-Tailed Fox...it's one of nine Tailed Beasts that live in this...Realm?" The man explained, cautiously. "They are renowned creatures of terror and power..."

_**"I see...and what is it you wished for the Shinigami to**** do?"**_

"I...intended to ask it to bind half of the creature's power within me and half within my son...to empower him for the conflict ahead."

_**"Why only half?"**_Death was curious. If he intended to prepare his offspring for the future...would it not be better to imbue him with the entirety of the...Nine-Tails' power?

"The Fox's power...I thought it would be too great for the Shinigami to seal away at once..." The human's halting speech became more sure as hope blossomed on his face, more so when Death scoffed at the statement.

_**"Prepare your son mortal! I shall handle this creature."** _And without an instant's hesitation, Death cast out his left arm, and the Deathgrip flew out, growing until it could clamp entirely around the Fox's head. Wrenching back, Death pulled on the creature, drawing it closer to him and the humans as below him, the man created an altar of some sort, placing his son atop it.

Occupied with the Fox, Death could not react in time when the woman weakened, coughing and choking, and the binding chains loosened enough for the creature to spear one of its paws forth, a claw heading for the child.

There was a splash of blood, but instead of lancing through the babe, the claw impaled the two adult mortals.

Death was impressed with their determination, to say the least. He would have to watch over them when they died soon.

Finally drawing the Fox's head even with him, Death released his grip on it, grasping his scythe in two hands and striking the creature multiple times across its face, opening quickly healed rents in its flesh. Each stroke built up Death's own Wrath, until finally it grew to the point he was sure what he intended would work properly. Reaching out, Death again grabbed the Fox, but this time enacted a spell upon it.

As The Lord of the Dead, he was long familiar with the handling of souls, capable of manipulating them in ways that could make Devils queasy. As the Nephilim Death, channeling Wrath was an inborn trait.

So he found it all too easy to compress the Fox, changing it, molding it as the mortals muttered their last words, and finally merging it into the babe. To hold the seal, Death used the pointed talon of one of his hands to inscribe ancient runes, dating back to when the Nephilim briefly inhabited Eden, onto the infant's stomach, forming a circle with them before he left the mark of the Horseman, an equine skull, in the center. The seal briefly flared the pallid green of Death's energy before fading to invisibility, leaving only the mortal's seals.

Sparing a glance for the empty bodies of the mortals, Death ripped open a dimensional gate with his scythe, passing through quickly as more mortals arrived on the scene.

– Kingdom of the Dead, The Eternal Throne, Present –

_**That fool was insufferable.**_Death thought, reflecting disgustedly upon the ruling Shinigami of the Dead Realm tied to the Realm of Shinobi. The idiot had, indeed, been surreptitiously passing over to the Living Realm, offering services in exchange for the mortals' souls. No better than a common Demon, really. Still, the fool had been dealt with, and in his place, Death had elected to place Minato in rule of that Dead Realm.

After all, he seemed to have a good set of morals about him, common sense...and had been witness to just what Death had done to the Shinigami.

His mind drawn back to that time, Death spared a moment to think of the boy and the beast he had sealed within him. Truth be told, it would have been all too easy for Death to slay the creature, scatter the souls composing it and force them through rifts into separate Dead Realms to prevent the creature's reformation...but Death stayed his hand, instead imprisoning the beast.

He was curious. The Nephilim had been hunted to the last, their souls locked away within an amulet, which had later been forcibly implanted into Death before he sacrificed it and its contents to resurrect Humanity. He had no regrets for what he had done...but it was never easy knowing that your race was all but extinct. So if the creature, which somehow generated its own Wrath...if it were, somehow, a malformed resurrection of a portion of all those sacrificed souls...

Death would see.

– The Abomination –

Well, K'GoN here meatbags, presenting the first of a short mini-series intended to bridge the gap between several of Knightmare's planned fics, one of which is underway. It should be fairly obvious which, but moving on...

It was actually fairly easy to figure out how to tie together Darksiders with all the other universes Knightmare has in mind (See prologue paragraph above) and of course all too easy to set up an expanded cosmos where all of these fictional worlds can coexist.

Now, to make one thing absolutely clear in this and any future stories in this joined universe: There are only three beings in All of Creation capable of defeating a Horseman: Michael (The Archangel, of course) Lucifer (AKA, Satan, THE Devil) and The Creator (GOD), and even for the first two, that's only a one-on-one fight. Two Horseman is closer to equal, three is pushing them back, and Four is Death (Heh, I crack myself up...and horrify myself. Damn you TV Tropes!). Of course, the odds would be drastically different if Mike and Luke teamed up but pfff, like that'll ever happen...hmm...*scribble*.

Anyway, like I said, this is going to be mostly a short mini-series, with three primary chapters, although some short one-shots may follow.

The next chapter is: **The Second Reaping: Hallowed Death.**


	2. The Second Reaping: Hallowed Death

Alright, as I mentioned in the Devil of Zero update, I'm going to be putting the Author Notes up here instead of down at the bottom. So...I suppose I'm going to be talking less about the chapters themselves to avoid spoilers.

Eh, I'll figure out a balance.

But, obviously, this chapter is a crossover with Harry Potter. If you didn't guess it by the title left in the last chapter's author note, I'm officially ashamed of you.

No, seriously.

Also, for anyone asking questions about how Death and the Peverells are able to understand each other, let's go with the idea that Death and other Darksider entities have the same kind of ability that Thor and the Aesir have in Marvel comics, eh?

Anyway, the next and final chapter in this three-parter will be **The First Reaping: Death Doesn't Cry**

* * *

**Memories of Death**

**The Second Reaping: Hallowed Death**

_Back in the time before the False End War, the Horsemen rode on many missions assigned them by the Charred Council. Several of these dealt with the Old Ones, races that predate the birth of Angels and Demons, and far more ancient than Man. On one of these tasks, the Charred Council passed Judgement on the race of Elder Dragons, the incalculably old beings that inspired the lesser images of them in Angel, Demon and Man alike._

_Annihilation._

_Each Elder Dragon was an ancient beast of the primordial elements, more than a match in both intellect and might for all but the mightiest of High Devils and Seraphim Lords. With this power came an arrogance that led to continual violations of the Balance, incursions into Celestial and Infernal Realms that sparked unending conflicts. All answered with a warning from the Council, out of respect for fellow Old Ones._

_Until they discovered proof of a millennium of draconic interference on Earth._

_The Council issued no warning, no ultimatum. They simply sent their best._

_The Horsemen Rode. And after a mere five centuries of apocalyptic warfare, the last Elder Dragon fell. And from then on, all that was left of them were the Infernal Realm's twisted mockeries of their form, and the legends of Man._

_Eons later, the home realm of the Elder Dragons, long barren, became the host of new life: Resurrected Humanity._

_And soon enough, Death found that a part of the Elder Dragons lived on..._

– Kingdom of the Dead, The Eternal Throne –

Again, existence found Death in a foul mood.

This time, no convenient foe existed for him to eviscerate in a fury of emotional cleansing. However, Death doubted anything but the current vexation his senses were focused upon would satisfy him.

He felt it in his bones.

A Watcher was active.

Those ancient Angelic sinners had once been the Edenguard, beings long entrusted to guard the young race of Man in Eden from the deprivations of the Infernal. However, as Man developed over the eons, the Edenguard faltered...and many of them forsook their duties to cavort with the mortals in Eden.

That indiscretion had birthed the Nephilim, and began the events that made Death what he was now.

Executioner

Reaper

Kinslayer.

The aftermath of the Trinity War saw the Edenguard slaughtered until only a few remained, those remnants cursed and marked by the Creator itself as punishment, the Charred Council set to watch them.

Several of them had, through one way or another, proven themselves repentant and the Council saw fit to grant them leniency in return for their service. One of those had been assigned to watch War during his imposed sentence.

Death wondered to this day whether those had truly earned their relief, or if the Council had seized upon an opportunity to gain some willing servants.

At any rate, having replaced the Council, the Horseman had assumed all their duties - including Watcher duty. However, many of the Grigori had slipped their leashes, including Kokabiel, who had previously been interred in a fortress in the Kingdom of the Dead. Much of Death's rides were focused on hunting them down and recapturing them...or executing them.

In some cases, Death had aid.

**_"Antioch. Cadmus. Ignotu__s.__ Come."_ **He ordered. Three shades arose from the floor of the throne room, each appearing as a skeletal figure clad in pallid green robes. One also wore rotten leather armor, designed to be loose and allowing unrestricted movement. Another had a ring upon one of its skeletal phalanges. The last draped a thin, decayed cloak about itself.

_**"A Watcher is active. Seek it out, and report back to me when you find it."** _Death commanded, and the shades nodded before flying away, heading for the Tree of Death to begin their search.

It had been centuries since Death had met the mortals those shades once were, and while they had proven rather disappointing to his initial expectations, their use these days was great.

– Realm of Dragons, About Seven Hundred Years Ago –

Despair's hooves pounded the packed dirt of the road, the undead stallion galloping tirelessly at its rider's will. Atop, the Horseman Death was shielded from the sight of mortals by one of his shrouds as he hunted his prey.

A Watcher was foolishly throwing about Celestial energy on this Realm, despite the fact that the Grigori _knew_ that overly powerful displays would draw the Horsemen to them like sharks after a bleeding swimmer. Death sensed the makings of a trap about this, but it would not be the first time he or one of his siblings had thwarted a foolhardy being's attempt to ensare them, and given the arrogance of Celestial and Infernal alike, it wouldn't be the last.

The source of Celestial energy fluctuated wildly then, and Death knew he had the Watcher. Despair's pace quickened, Death pushing him forward to catch the arrogant Watcher before he regained his senses and fled. Cresting a hill, Despair reared as Death brought him to a halt, and stared, astonished, at the sight before him.

Miles away, a river coursed through the area, and standing in the midst of it, his back to Death, was the Watcher. An Angel with dark gray feathered wings, dull and tarnished silver armor, and chains wrapped around all six limbs faced three humans. All were clad in robes, one with leather armor over his.

Death recognized the Watcher, Bezaliel, one of the rare Angels of Shadow. As the Horseman recalled, Bezaliel had sired over a hundred Nephilim, all of whom had shared his dark powers. They had been tricky to exterminate. Death was jarred from his remembrance however, when Bezaliel lashed out with his hand, a tendril of shadow following his motion to strike at the leather-armored mortal. Death was resigned to the man's death, when a wall of stone leaped up out of the earth and blocked the shadow-lash.

The armored human nodded at one of the others, who had an arm extended grasping some sort of wooden stick, before drawing a stick himself and gesturing with it. To Death's bemusement, a bolt of fire leaped for Bezaliel. The Watcher contemptuously slapped the attack aside with a wing, before raising his fist, shadowy matter coalescing about it. Before he could complete the spell though, a whip of water lashed about his arm and pulled it back, the shadowy blast vaporizing a part of the riverbank instead. To the side, Death noted the third human with his stick outstretched, making motions mirroring that of the whip. Bezaliel, however, was distracted when the armored mortal attacked him, summoning spears of stone out of the ground to strike at his head.

It took only a few more such exchanges before Death confirmed his theory. The trio of humans were working in admirable concert, the armored one leading the head-on offensive strikes while the third one launched stealthier attacks, all the while the second one turned back Belaziel's assault. Admirable use of tactics, and they seemed well-suited to working in concert. Long-term comrades of battle? It seemed likely.

However, it wouldn't last. Even from such a distance, Death could tell that Belaziel was marshaling his full power. A laborious process for one of his abilities under daylight, but it was progressing. The shadows lengthened under the noonday sun. The Horseman's intervention was needed, and soon.

He may as well make an entrance.

Dismounting Despair, Death let his Wrath suffuse his body, and the transformation took him. Moments later, the hooded, flying Reaper floated where the Nephilim had stood. Silent flaps of his bony wings propelled him forth, and soon enough he heard Belaziel boast.

_"-at's right! Cower you fool mortals!_" And indeed, the mortals were cowering. But Belaziel failed to notice they were looking _behind _him._ "Now prepare for-"_

_**"Hello Uncle."**_It was simply delicious, the way the Watcher froze, mid-taunt. He turned, slowly, to face Death. The vision of the Reaper, wings outstretched and soul-harvesting scythe in hand, appeared too much for him, judging by how he collapsed at the knees. Death helped him stand, by grabbing him around his throat and lifting him up to the Horseman's eye level.

There was a lurch, and a ripping noise, as Belaziel tore his right arm entirely through Death's chest. Death felt a ripple of amusement, although given the state of his face in Reaper form, he doubted Belaziel knew that.

_"Er. Right. Sorry. Had to try and all__ that."_Belaziel said weakly, withdrawing his arm with a squelch.

_**"Indeed. At any rate, I'm sure the Citadel of Light has been wondering where you've been all these millennia. They'll be ecstatic to see you**_** again."**

_"Wait, wait! Don't send me back__ there!"_

_**"Do you have something to offer? Perhaps my dear father's location?"**_Death queried. Belaziel notably flinched at the thought.

_"Samyaza! I haven't seen the madman in eons! He had a mad notion Death - something about breaking into the Whit__e__ City!"_

Madman indeed. The Seraphim would rip Samyaza into pieces and nail him, still-living, to the Gates of Hell for the Demons and Devils to jeer at. What Michael would do to the Arch-Watcher was too horrid to contemplate.

_**"A pity. I shall be coming by to check on you in a century or so."**_And with only a horrified squawk of protest from the chained angel, Death tore open a gateway with his scythe and tossed the Watcher through.

Below, the trio of mortals cowered as Death descended and transformed back into his normal shape, landing with a light thud. It was always strange meeting humans, as Death and the other Nephilim always towered above all but the largest of them.

_**"Peace mortals. My duty here is done."**_Death said, much to their apparent relief. _**"I simply wish to congratulate you for surviving a battle with a Watcher...and to thank you for delaying him until I**** came."**_

"A-ah...you're welcome?" The second one offered.

_**"More than mere words."**_Death chuckled lightly - something that would have made anyone or thing else look at him strangely. _**"I offer each of you a boon - ask for it, and I will grant it if it is within my**** power."** _

"A wand!" The armored one burst. Then he looked nervous, and his two brothers glanced at him. "Er, I mean, if you would not mind, Sir Death, I would like a wand of great power, able to defeat all others!" His voice rose as he spoke, apparently gaining confidence when Death did not strike him down for his temerity. Death stared at him for a moment, and then called out.

_**"Dust! Bring me a branch of that tree!" **_The ancient crow flew down from the height where it had been circling, swooping past Death and the three mortals to snag a small branch off of an elder tree growing by the river, returning and dropping the piece of wood in Death's hand before perching on the Horseman's shoulder. Holding the branch up before him, Death channeled his Wrath into it, warping and changing the wood until it came to resemble the wands the mortals held. Death held out the Elder Wand to the armored mortal, who stepped up cautiously, taking the wand from Death. **_"And what do you desire?"_ **He asked, turning to the second mortal.

"I would like the ability to resurrect the dead." The second mortal requested, more confident and with a tone best described as 'distinguished'. Death snorted at this, making the man step back.

_**"True Resurrection is beyond my ability."**_He told the mortal. _**"But if you will settle for a seeming o****f**** it..."**_ Bending, Death plucked a pebble from the riverbed. As with the wand, he infused the stone with Wrath, binding it with a spell. Holding it out, Death dropped the stone into the mortal's outstretched hand. _**"Turn it over in your hand three times, and those you wish to see will appear before you...but not**** alive."**_ The mortal swallowed audibly, trembling, and nodded.

Death turned to the last mortal.

_**"And what is your**** desire?"** _

"If you would not mind, I would like your cloak." The other two mortals gasped, but the third stood firm, staring at Death.

Under his mask, Death smiled. And in a single, flowing motion, he removed his shroud and wrapped it around the mortal, the other two gasping again as he disappeared from their sight.

_**"Use my gifts**** well."**_ Death said, before Despair erupted from beneath the earth, whinnying loudly as Death rode off.

– Kingdom of the Dead, The Eternal Throne –

Despite what he'd said back then, Death had _not_ in fact, just handed three mortals artifacts crafted by his own hand as a reward for distracting a mere Watcher. No, he had been greatly curious as to their abilities, and bound the three artifacts to their souls, with enchantments built into their beings to relay information back to him.

Thus, he had been greatly irritated when he learned the first mortal, the eldest of what turned out to be three brothers, had died a mere week after his encounter with Death. More so when the second one committed suicide only a short time after that.

The third brother, however, lived long and used Death's shroud many a time. And Death gleaned much from his soul.

It seemed that the Elder Dragons were intent on leaving their mark on Creation for a long time, as much of their ancient energy suffused these mortals' souls. It was worrisome indeed, for if their influence after their execution proved too great on Man...then the Horsemen would ride on that Realm a second time.

As the centuries passed and Death received no indicators of further issues however, he let the Realm slip out of his mind as further problems appeared, the most recent being this new Watcher activity.

He was surprised then, when Ignotus' shade returned with news of Sparda's son in a Realm far removed from where he should be.


End file.
